


Glass, Darkly.

by Kelarks



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Evil!Jack?, FAERIES!!!, Gen, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelarks/pseuds/Kelarks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fae of the Winter Court are meddling with the fabric of reality and it's up to Jack and a few familiar faces to stop them. Soon they'll be forced to realize that not every universe is as kind as theirs.</p><p>_</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass, Darkly.

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just because I wondered what would have happened had Jack joined Pitch, like basically every other person in this fandom, and then THIS happened. Don't judge me!!
> 
> _

He knew it was a bad idea to keep going as soon as he felt the shift in the air, a sudden pressure of strange magic and the sharp tang of ozone. _'Something is moving, something is coming'_ the wind whispered as it rushed past and Jack was normally loathe to ignore it. The North Wind was a faithful ally, as mischievous and flighty as himself but loyal all the same, and when it gave caution Jack usually paid heed. But he had been feeling a little restless and perhaps a little lonely lately, he'd lost track of how much time had past since he'd last set eyes on the other Guardians but knew that it was enough for Jamie to be well into adulthood with children of his own, so he'd ignored it. Sometimes ignoring the wind was a good thing and fighting against the flow was always something Jack enjoyed. He was just jittery enough to brush off the urgent hiss of the frigid breeze and carry on flitting through the forest, the small rebellions lifting his spirits.

He was somewhere in Russia, that was all he knew, but he'd long since strayed off the beaten path and was quite content to wander aimlessly through the snowy northern regions. Usually he kept closer to the towns and cities, the novelty of being seen still fresh even after so many decades, but his latest trip to Burgess, after seeing the sight of Jamie playing with his youngest (a shy, doe-eyed boy of eight) and looking so much older than Jack ever would, had left him feeling sombre and reluctant to interact with humans. At least for a little while. Jack knew that human lives were comparatively brief next to the potential infinity stretching out before him but it was still shocking every time he left and came back to find that in the few short years he'd been gone, microscopic blips and snatches of time, Jamie had grown taller or broader or developed wrinkles or other such tolls of ageing. 

Jamie was always pleased to see him, as was Sophie when she came back to visit, but he was no longer the wonder-struck child that Jack used to know. He was a man now, wiser than most, and with a look of deep, lazy content in his eyes that Jack knew he'd never accomplish, not even if he lived to be thousands and thousands of years old. Jamie had found a wife too; who, to Jacks annoyance, went through seemingly endless bouts of believing and not-believing and kept trying to convince herself and her children that Jack didn't exist whenever he wasn't there to prove otherwise. Jamie never stopped believing, even though he now had strands of hair as white as Jack's scattered along his temples, but that was small comfort when his eldest, a skinny boy of fifteen who was the image of his father, scoffed and laughed at the idea that a creature like 'Jack Frost' could ever exist.

The combined ridicule of their big brother and careful chiding of their mother ensued that Jamie's two younger children, Jackson and Marie, often lost faith when he wasn't there to frost up their bedroom windows and leave ice-sculptures on their bedside tables while they slept. It was... daunting. That sort of opposition. People fell in and out of belief as easily as they fell in and out of sleep so he tried not to take it too personally. But it was just weeks like the past one where he was viciously reminded of why the other Guardians, work aside, had drifted away from direct contact with humanity. Father Time became an enemy every time Jamie's face gained a new line and it was painful to accept that in a few short decades he was going to loose one of his first and oldest friends. 

So here he was, hiding out in an old forest in Russia thousands of miles away from any sort of civilisation, moodily coating the trees he passed in a fine glimmer of frost. He was sulking, he knew he was, three hundred years of solitude had left Jack with a very keen sense of self and he knew himself enough to admit that right now he was sulking like a petulant child who'd just found out that he couldn't keep the frog he'd found in his back garden. He was using that particular simile because the last town he'd passed before he left for the open wilderness had housed a young boy wailing about that very same thing. And it seemed to fit well enough. 

Jamie had confided, on Jack's last visit, that he didn't really regret growing old and that he liked watching his children grow up and that he even liked the smattering of white hair at his temples _(“The wife says I look 'refined', so it can't be all that bad, eh?”)_ so it was only Jack lamenting each new wrinkle and sag of skin. Only Jack who would feel the keen loss of the companionship of the man he'd grown to care for. Because when Jamie and his wife and their children were all dead and gone it would be Jack who would have to bear the weight of their memories. Death, Jack mused as he perched low on a hanging tree branch, didn't really happen to the dead so much as it happened to the people they left behind. 

Okay, so Jamie was still a fit, healthy man of middling age and wouldn't be dying any time soon and he was far from the only person in the world whom Jack considered a friend but there was still something special, something precious, about the first boy who'd ever believed in him and Jack was going to miss him sorely. The wind whistled again, a shrill piercing cry that startled Jack out of his reverie and into the thick layer of snow beneath. It wasn't cold, not to him, but, while he could spend days huddled contentedly beneath the soft blanket of previously untouched snow, if he stood still too long he'd slip from sulking into genuine, hardcore brooding and that never boded well for anyone. Bunnymund was still far too fond of mentioning the terrible cold snap that had almost devastated a couple of northerly islands' agriculture, Great Britain and Ireland respectively, the last time he'd fallen into such a funk and Jack was in no mood to give the Australian Pooka any more ammunition. 

So he brushed himself off and trailed cautiously forward. The further he went the more the air felt charged with magic and Jack rubbed his fingers together absently as a surge of static flushed through them. This wasn't like anything he'd felt before and he felt the twin thrill of fear and excitement as the trees dwindled out into a clearing and an old house came into view. And not just any house! Jack recognised this one from the legends alone! It stood, rickety and proud, on two mottled, grey chicken legs. A pike fence, topped with grinning skulls, ringed the house. No door, no windows either, just a gently smoking chimney and an aura of contained menace. Even with the distinct lack of windows, Jack still felt like he was being watched, being assessed. The wind hissed again, tugged at his clothes, and this time Jack let it push him backwards.

He had no desire to rile up the infamous Baba Yaga and he carefully, reverently, tip-toed backwards until he cleared the first line of trees that surrounded the clearing. Jack was many things; reckless, mischievous, stubborn, aloof but he was not stupid. Even North gave the Baba Yaga a wide berth and anyone who was fearsome enough to make North tremble was fearsome enough to make Jack never ever want to meet them. Ever.

He made it another four steps before the house, almost invisible behind the dense layer of foliage, gave a graceless lurch forward and started to stumble towards him, chicken legs shuddering and kicking up great clouds of snow. Jack let out a startled yelp and took flight, zooming through the trees, no longer caring about remaining unseen. The house kept pace, though, and a soft cackling filled the air as it slowly started to gain on him. Cold sweat broke out on Jack's forehead as he ducked and dived trough the gaps the forest provided, the wind urging him on and closing up the gaps behind him with gusts of air that shoved spindly-leaves in their place. Jack sent a wave of ice skittering over the ground behind him in the hopes of slowing the house down but a quick glance behind him, though, showed that it was in vain as the house jumped effortlessly over the glistening ground and landed a perfectly on front of him. 

Jack smacked painfully into the aged wood and fell onto his rear, scrambling backwards as a sudden cold fear gripped his heart and a door appeared on the front of the house, painted black like a dark yawning mouth just waiting to consume him. 

“Now, now, Frost. None of that, boy.” a stern voice called out as the door opened and an old woman, nose hooked and eyes sharp and glittering, stepped outside. “Well, y'know, giant walking house starts chasing me? I'm gonna run.” Jack returned, standing shakily and backing up against a black-barked tree as the Baba Yaga crossed her arms across her ample chest and gave him a cold stare. 

“These be my woods, Frost. Mine to keep and mine to change and I don't appreciate you scattering your particular brand of winter across them. These are sacred woods, I planted the tree you're leaning against along with every other you see. Even the animals know to stay away.” the Baba Yaga barked, wagging an admonishing finger at Jack as he lurched away from the tree and looked warily at the suddenly menacing collection of dark wood and pointed green needles. 

“I-I'm sorry ma'am, I didn't realise. I'll, uh, leave right away! Don't you worry!” he laughed nervously and inched backwards only to find his path blocked by a tree that was was certain hadn't been there a moment prior. Jack could almost make out a face in it's gnarled bark and he quickly glanced away to where the Baba Yaga was watching him with an expression of exasperated amusement. “None of that now, boy.” she repeated chidingly and Jack watched in horror as the trees began to move and group into a dense canopy that blocked out the pale light of the winter's sun. 

“These be my woods and they're not too well pleased with your trespassing.” she informed him cordially and uncrossed her arms. Jack noticed that he hands were long and thin, claw tipped rather than rounded like human fingers, and he shuddered. “Look, I'm really sorry. I had no way of knowing this was your forest! I swear I wont do it again if you'd just let me leave! What's a bit of trespassing between spirits, eh?” he asked, trying to sound jovial and failing miserably, but the Baba Yaga just tutted and shook her head, limp hair sticking to her sallow cheeks.

“No excuse and you know it, young Guardian! The wood demands retribution. You either pay a price or undertake a task, it's your choice, boy.” she rasped and Jack felt a frisson of terror zing down his spine. A price set down by the Baba Yaga would always, always, be steeper than he would be willing to pay. She'd demand his staff or something equally precious and every inch of him rebelled at losing anything of that nature again. At ever being that defenceless, that _empty_ , again. Which left the task and Jack was just as wary of _that_ . It may seem like the lesser of the two evils but he had no doubt that it would be just as demanding as whatever the price would be. He gave the Baba Yaga a beseeching look and she returned it coolly, claws taping impatiently against the side of the house.

“Choose quickly, Frost, or the choice will be made for you.” she threatened and the trees pulsed menacingly at his back. Jack gulped and squared his shoulders and the Baba Yaga barked out an amused cackled as she read his decision in the lines of his face. “Very well, boy, the task it will be. You'll know it when you find it. The cold fae have been meddling in affairs not their own. Desperate for new rule and glory they've pulled something from somewhere that should not be _here_ ! Set it right! _That's_ your task!” she ordered, eyed flashing, and Jack cursed silently at the vagueness of the command, grip tightening on his staff as the Baba Yaga drifted back inside her house and the door closed with a sonorous thump. 

Jack stood there, uncertain, as the trees slowly parted to reveal the sun and the house pitched forward on it's shaky legs and bounded off. The sound of distant cackling thrumming in his ears as his legs gave out on him and Jack sank slowly to his knees. Only the wind nipping urgently at his cheeks motivated Jack to rise and slowly, carefully, make his way out of the forest, his mind troubled and his eyes clouded.

There was a heavy weight on his chest and Jack knew that it wouldn't lift until he completed the task that the Baba Yaga had set for him. She'd said something about the fae, vain creatures prone to fits of random fury and quicksilver joy, but Jack didn't know them very well. Only the Winter Court had welcomed him and they were to capricious, too fierce of face and nature, for him to be comfortable staying long in their presence. For a while they had been the only creatures who spoke to him but even as a young spirit, aimless and wandering, he'd known not to stay in their Court for too long. They hadn't wanted him to leave, admiring his control over the winter elements, but he'd found them too unnerving, too invested in the rigidity of their traditions and the importance of their Court, to stay. 

He had just wanted to have a bit of fun, mess about and enjoy himself, but they'd chattered longingly of their Dawn of Eternal Winter, a fairytale of a prophesy where the Winter Court ruled over the world, and Jack just hadn't been interested. So he'd left and never looked back, something they'd apparently took offence too because he hadn't seen or spoken to a winter fae since. Tooth knew more about the Summer Court, her tooth fairies were a sort of distant cousin to the bright, hot tempered fae of the sunny months, and Jack resolved to pay her a visit as soon as he made his way out of the forest that seemed so much bigger now than when he first ambled through. 

\---------------------------------------

Far away, deep in the heart of mainland Europe, a gathering of blue-lipped, sky-clad fae sat around a circular rock pool, their hands clasped and their dark eyes glued to the pale, murky surface of the water. Symbols and sigils carved in looping script curved around the pools edge and glowed with a faint blue light. The fae leaned forward as one, their faces unearthly and beautiful in the light of reflecting off the pool, and whispered ancient pleas that sparked up little jolts of icy blue lightning from deep within the pool. 

They hummed, voices sweet and wanting, and slowly the water cleared. A white shape, humanoid and slender, rose to the surface and the fae's glittering faces lit up in ecstasy. The humming rose in tempo and volume as the shape coalesced into that of a man, long pale hair floating limply around his head. The lightning around the pool quickened and grew until it was a barrier of flashing light that illuminated the unholy glee in the faces of the fae. 

Their faces slowly turned to terror, however, as the lightning began to whip free and lash out at the pools edge, scoring large black marks through the stone and singing the creatures who faltered in their humming. As they faltered so did the light in the runes at their feet and as one the fae let out a cry of alarm and broke the circle when they felt the earth rumble ominously beneath their feet. The man in the pool shuddered with the ground and then snapped open ice-pale eyes as the lightning snapped free and the fae were forced to flee under the onslaught of unrestrained magic. Ancient magic that shook the foundations of the ground it was carved in and made one spirit, nestled far above the ground in the cool, craters of the moon, frown in apprehension. 

Something was not right, the fae had meddled in affairs not their own, and now the world felt the danger from the man crawling weakly out of the pool, naked and hacking water from his lungs as his cold eyes surveyed the ruined ground around him. The man shuddered, a wordless cry of pain forcing it's way past dark lips, and hunched forward, a hand clawing desperately at his chest as the world tried to purge itself of the interloper. The Man in the Moon winced in sympathy at the raw, animal pain the man showed as he writhed on the wet stones but was unable to contact or comfort him. Certain things were beyond his power and the powers of this world had no sympathy, no mercy, for anything that would dare threaten it's stability. 

The Man in the Moon closed his eyes against the pain on the pale creature's face and thought quickly. Just because _he_ was incapable of helping didn't mean that _others_ were equally hindered. Magic had a funny way of circumventing the laws that governed the world and the Man in the Moon knew _exactly_ who to go to to set things right.

High above the earth, as the sun slowly rose from the other side of the world, the moon _shone_ .


End file.
